Loved Her, Love Me
by The Tram
Summary: Most everyone has heard of the Phantom of the Opera, but few know the true How Christine broke Erik's heart long before the new managers and a few important people were left out. Tess Dubois has lived in the Opera for 9 years as a seamstress and she is the silent angel who never speaks. She loves the Phantom. And she knows how the story really goes...
1. Chapter 1-News

I sit in my small room near the back of the opera. No one comes back here unless they are coming to see me. I like it that way. It is quiet, peaceful. Monsieur Lefevre promised me a long time ago that he would take care of me. Now I work as one of the best seamstresses in the entire Opera.

As I sit I dig through my numerous patterns. Madame Giry has demanded new gowns for every girl in the chorus. I still don't know why this gala is so important, but I never argue with Madame.

A quiet knock sounds on my door and a moment later it opens. I look up to see Gavroche. Gav and I have grown up together for the past nine years. Though we are not truly related, we are closer than many siblings. He looks around my room. I have never been neat. Every possible surface is cluttered with patterns, papers, sketches, thread, needles and fabric. Gav sighs. "We need to hire you your own personal housekeeper." I wrinkle my face at him and shake my head sternly. Lord knows the last thing I want is constant company.

Gav sits down on the floor next to me and crosses his legs. I smile. "What?" he asks. "There's no place else to sit in here." My smile widens and I shrug at him. He smiles back. "Still working on Madame's gowns?" he asks me. I nod and roll my eyes. Gav takes special time out of his day to see me. He works with the stage crew moving sets. No one admits it, but he is the best stage hand in the theater.

Gav and I sit for a while. He fills me in on all the theater gossip while I stitch away at a rose pink gown. I listen eagerly, nodding here, smiling there. The door is open and Gav's story floats down the hall. His voice captures my full attention and I don't hear Monsieur Lefevre's approach until he is standing in the doorway. Gav stops talking and smiles. I set aside my sewing and rush to hug him.

Monsieur Lefevre has been a father to Gavroche and me since we arrived here nine years ago. Gav got here a few months before I did. Monsieur found me on the stairs frozen half to death and brought me inside. He and Gav nursed me to health. When I finally woke Gav was the one beside me. He told me how I had been found and who Monsieur was. When Monsieur returned he had smiled and thanked God I was awake. He told me I had been unconscious for almost four days.

For a time Gav and I stayed in Monsieur's personal rooms. We never left. For weeks Monsieur and Gav tried to coax words out of me. I never uttered a sound. I fear they gave up on me after a while. It was not until one evening while Monsieur was working through a pile of important documents that Gav and I found a way for me to communicate.

Gav was asking questions again, knowing I would not answer when Monsieur dropped a paper off his desk. I caught it. It was blank. Gav smiled and handed me a quill while Monsieur gave me some ink. "Draw something pretty, angel," he said to me warmly. They both called me angel because they did not know my name.

I did not draw. Instead I wrote in perfect lettering, "_My name is Tess_". I gave my paper to Gav because Monsieur was not paying attention to me.

"Pere, Pere!" Gav called. We called Monsieur father even though he was not. Monsieur looked at Gav curiously, for he rarely spoke loudly. Gavroche handed my paper to Monsieur who read the words.

"You write?" he asked me. I nodded with a smile. "What else do you do, child?" he asked eagerly. I took my paper back and answered. Thus it was I became a seamstress and began to settle in at the Opera.

It is strange to me that Monsieur does not hug me back. Only as I step back do I notice the sadness in his eyes, the slope of his shoulders as if the whole world sat upon them. Gav must notice too because he asks, "Pere, what is wrong?"

Monsieur sits down on the sofa in my room, ignoring the patterns he is crushing.

"They are replacing me." he says quietly.

For several moments Gav and I do not move. We finally look at each other. I see my own fear mirrored in Gavroche's eyes.

"Surely you can't be serious," Gav says. He is almost begging. Monsieur meets his gaze.

"I'm so sorry, lad. I am. I am costing the theater too much money they say. It is to be put in more capable hands."

I feel the tears welling in my eyes long before they start falling down my face. He can't leave. He can't. He promised me he would never leave me behind. Gav is the one to wrap his arms around my shoulders. It is Gav who voices my fears.

"What will happen to us?" he asks. It is a fair question. Gav is only eighteen. There are many stronger men in the stage crew, though I doubt many are more capable. And as for me, I am silent. What use does a theater have for a silent, sixteen year old girl? I can sew, but so do many others. What chance do we have on our own.

Monsieur does not answer right away and my fears take root. At last he says, "Madame Giry has promised to put in a good word for you both." He stands stiffly. "I just came from her apartments. No one else knows yet. I will be announcing it at the gala."

"If we still have a gala," Gav says. A hint of annoyance is in his voice. I do not blame him. In truth it is not Monsieur costing the theater money. It is our leading ladies. Carlotta is off once again to who knows where. She had yet another row with Monsieur Reyer. No one knows where Christine disappears to either. Some say she goes to see the phantom, though I know that is not the truth. I hear many things no one else does. They know I will not tell a soul what they say. Christine has said to me many times that she hates the Phantom though she has never told me where it is she goes.

"We fill have a gala if I have to sing the entire production myself," Monsieur announces. "Tess will play the organ for me, won't you my dear?" I smile at him encouragingly. He is trying so hard to make this easier. I move my hands as if I were playing for him. He nods at me. "That's my good girl." He sighs deeply. "I suppose I should return to the office. There are a few things I must see to before the new managers arrive. Do your best to be useful."

"We will make sure the place shines," Gav promises. I nod my agreement. _Our poor Pere_ I can't help thinking as Monsieur walks out my door. Gav does not continue his story. Neither of us feels like laughing anymore. After a few moments he too takes his leave. I return to my sewing. Madame must be satisfied. I need her on our side.


	2. Chapter 2- The managers

Even with our heavy hearts the week seems to fly past. Christine and Carlotta both return to the Opera. Christine has been given a lead in the chorus while Carlotta takes the starring role. Hannibal must be perfect if we are to impress the new managers. At least, that is what Madame Giry says.

I stand in the wings watching the ballet girls rehearsing. Carlotta is taking her time changing costumes. When she at last appears Monsieur Reyer calls everyone to attention. Madame Giry says a few last words of instruction to the girls before joining me. She smiles kindly.

"The gowns are perfect, mon petite," she whispers encouragingly. I smile at her. The head seamstress had ruined several of the ballet gowns and Madame had brought them to me to fix. The girls shone in their repaired dresses. "Did you finish the gowns for the gala tonight?" Madame asks. I smile and point to the rack behind me. Madame smiles, a rare expression for her, and nods her approval. "Good girl." She turns her attention back to her dancers and ignores me.

Senior Piangi has a funny voice, or at least I think so. However even I cannot deny that his has the best tenor voice in the opera. Carlotta hits several sharp notes that are downright painful. No one says anything.

I notice that many of the actors are not in full costume yet. Carlotta stumbles over her dress. Her idiot seamstress has made it too long again. No doubt I will be fixing it presently. Monsieur does stop the rehearsal when Piangi sings a line with the completely wrong words. Madame Giry leaves my side to correct a few dancers.

At that moment Monsieur comes in with three new men behind me. The first is tall with dark brown hair and a haughty look. He is slightly over weight and very obviously bored. The second is much shorter with gray curly hair and a wandering eye.

"Monsieur Reyer, Madame Giry, I apologize," Monsieur Lefevre starts. Only Madame recognizes that Monsieur has spoken. After several seconds he turns to her. She slams the bottom of her staff on the stage once. Silence falls like a closing curtain. Madame Giry sighs and Monsieur Reyer lets out an audible groan. When all is quiet, Monsieur continues. "As you all know, for some weeks there have been rumors of my imminent retirement." Everyone looks at him. "I can now tell you that these rumors are all true. It is my pleasure to introduce you to the two men who now own the Opera Populaire." He gestures first to the tall man and then the gray haired one. "Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Andre Moncharmin." Each bows in turn. A few of the ballet rats whisper to each other. I frown.

"It is our pleasure to introduce our new patron, the Vicount de Changy," Monsieur Andre says. The third man I noticed steps forward. He is younger than his companions and seems to be actually interested in us. I notice immediately the way Christine straightens and the flush in her cheeks. "Raoul," she whispers. He does not hear her.

I am so wrapped up watching Christine that I miss the Vicount's little speach. He does not speak long. He may have had more to say, but Carlotta interupts him. With a sweep of her hand and while trying not to trip over her dress, she moves toward him. Monsieur Lefevre introduces her. She doesn't even spare him a glance. She curtsies awkwardly to the Vicount. After five seasons we still haven't replaced her. I am not impressed with her voice and she has no talent to speak of and yet she remains.

After a moment the Vicount politely excuses himself to Monsieur Reyer's great satisfaction. Carlotta moves toward her maids exclaiming how much he loved her. The maids do their best to flatter their mistress while attempting to fix her costume. It is an impossible task since Carlotta won't stand still. I notice the glance pass between Christine and the Vicount. Christine plays the part of a shy innocent girl and the Vicount smiles. Meg Giry dotes upon Christine as he passes. I sigh silently.

I am reminded why I respect Madame Giry as she escorts the new managers off the stage in a commanding way. She only has to glare at the ballet rats and they instantly take their places as the music starts for the next scene. The steps are flawless this time.

"We take pride in our ballet, Monsieurs," Madame says to Andre and Richard.

"I see why," Andre agrees eyeing Meg. I lean against the wall and watch. There is nothing better to do.

Madame does not seem to approve of Andre's attention. "That is my daughter, Meg Giry," she says with a mother's warning tone. I smile at Andre's crestfallen look.

Richard looks over at another girl. "And that astonishing beauty. No relation I trust." Silly man, trying to outsmart Madame.

"Christine Daae," Madame informs him. "Promising talent. Very promising. I think of her as a daughter also."

Piangi steps on Carlotta's dress calling my attention away from the ballet. I cover my face with my hands when the stage hands almost crush a few ballet girls with the giant roll-on elephant. Madame mutters something under her breath that is not very polite. Carlotta is visibly unhappy that Andre and Richard are not paying her any attention.

As soon as the scene is over she storms to one side screaming, "All they want is dancing," in her thick Spanish accent.

I move from the wings like a shadow, slipping among the actors and dancers until I am close enough to hear the managers.

"...very excited for tonights gala," I hear Richard finishing. I sigh as Carlotta moves toward them.

"Ah," she says with an extravagant sweep of her hand. "Hola hola. I hope, he is as excited by dancing girls as your new managers," she shouts at Monsieur Lefevre. "Because I will not be singing!" Her voice reaches a painful pitch. She begins screaming instructions to her maids. The new managers pale.

"What do we do?" they as Monsieur.

"Grovel," is Monsieur's only answer. I smile. This I have to see. Monsieur Lefevre exchanges a hidden smile with me while the new managers rush after Carlotta. It is immediately obvious that Andre is a better flatterer than Richard.

Quickly the new managers turn Carlotta's attention to the aria in act three. Carlotta frowns as they tell her what a beautiful aria it is. "Si si, ma no!" she shouts, waving long, golden painted fingers under their noses. "Because I have not my costume for act three, because somebody not finish it!" She is referring to her maids who exchange a look of contempt behind her back. I raise my hand and rush off stage. I return seconds later with the beautiful white frock over my arm. Carlotta smiles. "Ah, the only person with a brain int he theater!" she shouts at the managers. "Come my sweet," she instructs me. She takes the dress and inspects it before throwing it at her maids. "I should send you all away. This is how you make a dress. See?" The maids bow and grovel and beg forgiveness like idiots. She places a dramatic hand on her head and begins to cry. "I hate my hat!" she whines.

"But Senora, as a personal favor?" Richard begs. She cries for a few more moments before waving her hands.

"If my managers command" she says before glaring at Monsieur Reyer.

"If my Diva commands," Reyer says wearily.

"Yes, I do." Carlotta snaps. She takes her place center stage and smiles at Andre and Richard glad to finally hold their attention. Andre smiles encouragingly as the music starts.

It becomes obvious from the first note that Carlotta has barely studied the piece. Her voice is all over the place and the rhythm is all wrong. Andre smiles anyway, but Richard shutters. Carlotta doesn't notice either of them.

Carlotta has only strangled out a few bars when I hears something far above our heads. I see the shadow and watch the set begin to fall. With a movement far faster than most are capable of I lunge forward and push Carlotta as hard as I can. She sprawls on the floor inches from the edge of the stage. The set misses her by less than a foot. I am not so lucky. My ankle is trapped beneath it.

The set is not heavy enough to break any bones, but I cannot get it off on my own. I hear Meg and Christine both scream, "The Phantom! The Phantom of the opera!" Monsieur Lefevre screams as well, but he is hollaring at Buquet, our stage manager.

Buquet insists it wasn't him. We all know it wasn't. He pulls the set back up and off of me. Monsieur Lefevre helps me to my feet while Andre and Richard try to calm Carlotta.

"Senora, these things do happen," Richard says apologetically.

"Si, for the past three years these things do happen." She whirls on Monsieur Lefevre. "And did you stop them from happening? No! And you two? You as bad as him. These things do happen? Ma! No? Until you stop these things from happening, this thing does not happen!" She screams at her maids and they immediately begin to leave. Piangi comes up to the managers and roars right in their faces, "Amateurs!" before stalking off after Carlotta.

It takes several moments for Richard and Andre to grasp what has happened. Monsieur Reyer is on the verge of panicking. Monsieur Lefevre looks at them each in turn.

"Gentlemen, good luck," he says at last. "If you need me I shall be in Australia." Monsieur Reyer turns toward the great marble column at the edge of the stage. As ridiculous as it sounds, he truly begins to cry right there. Monsieur turns to leave and sees me. He moves toward my side and the managers watch him. "Goodbye, mom petite," he says and kisses my forehead. I grasp at his hand but he pulls away from me. Somehow I know I will never see him again.

_I will not cry_, I tell myself. I will cry later when no one will see me. For now I turn back to the managers. They look at me curiously, but only for a moment. Andre turns to Monsieur Reyer.

"Senior, she will be coming back won't she?" Monsieur Reyer throws his hands in the air and makes the most pathetic sound he could utter.

"You think so Monsieur?" Madame Giry says almost sarcastically. She would never be truly sarcastic. She is too much of a lady. I notice at once the letter in her hands. My breath catches in my throat. _He_ dropped it. He must have; the Phantom of the Opera. "I have a message, sir, from the Opera Ghost," she announces. Richard rolls his eyes and mumbles something about obsessed. Andre pales and Monsieur Reyer moans aloud. I feel bad for Monsieur Reyer sometimes. I quite think this Opera will be the death of him.

"He welcomes you to his opera house." Madame's words call me back from my thought.

"


	3. Chapter 3- Gala

Just before the show had started I handed Madame Giry a green silk dress. She had not asked for one, but she needed a gown for the gala as much as the girls did. Smiling, she took it from me. Then I had returned to my room.

Now I stand outside the closed doors to the theater. The foyer is mostly deserted. Only a few servants wander the room preparing for the after party. I help them where I can. The servants have always been kind to me. Marta, one of the cooks slips me a cream puff as she passes. I smile. Marta never forgets to leave me one. She knows these are my favorite.

After the hall is prepared everyone else drifts away. I have no where better to be, so I remain where I am, wandering among the flowers. I can hear the closing song from behind the doors. It's a waltz. I close my eyes and hold my arms as if I have a partner. I float across the floor in time with the music. Sometimes I dance in my room when I am alone.

Someone's arms slip around me and my eyes open immediately and I stop dancing. I smile brightly at Gavroche who has joined me. "Hello beautiful," he says warmly. "I am afraid I had to interrupt your partner. You are far to lovely. Might I have this dance?" I curtsey to him and he takes me in his arms again. Gavroche is wasted in the rafters. He is a magnificent dancer. Whirling across the floor with practiced ease in Gav's arms makes me feel like one of the lovely ladies who attend the galas. I do not usually feel pretty, let alone lovely.

Thunderous applause carry through the wall and let us know the performance is over. Only then do Gav and I stop dancing, though the music ended some time ago. Gav and I look at each other. I smile. Someone managed to get Gavroche into a suit. It is a rare sight. He prefers his work clothes. I smile, wrinkling my nose when I see his tie. I reach up with delicate fingers and undo it before I retie it correctly.

The doors open to the hall and people begin to trickle in. The click of heals on marble and the sound of hushed voices reaches me. He mentions how beautiful the ballet dancer was. She says she envies Christine's dress. That one comments on how sad he was not to see Carlotta preforming. Another says a violinist was out of tune.

I shrink away from the oncoming crowd. Gav gives me an apologetic look. He knows how I hate being around people; especially crowds of them. I am inevitably stepped on.

The room quickly fills with wealthy guests and the theater stars. The ballet girls flirt with any bachelor they can find. Stage hands stand together around the champagne table. Madame Giry, Monsieur Reyer and the managers stand in a cluster for a moment congratulating each other before the Vicount makes his entrance. Andre and Richard swiftly move to his side and escort him through the crowd.

I watch Richard and Andre introduce the Vicount to many people. This lady is married to a count. That man owns the largest estate in the area. She is a Countess. He is a priest. The list goes on and on. Several times the Vicount tries to excuse himself only to be pulled in another direction by the eager managers. I smile as I watch them.

"The mute decided to show." I groan inwardly. Can't Christine and the other ballet rats leave me alone for one night. I turn to them and blink my mismatched eyes.

"Surely you had something more your station to wear," Florence says referring to my pale blue dress. This dress was a gift from Monsieur Lefevre on my fifteenth birthday. I am proud of it.

"A maid's outfit perhaps," Odette offers. I feel a hand slip into mine and look to my left. Belle, one of the older ballet girls has stepped in beside me.

"You're just upset because you haven't found a wealthy lord to dote on you yet," Belle says. Odette's face turns crimson before she turns and walks away with Florence on her heals. Christine looks me over from head to toe one more time before following them. I squeeze Belle's hand in thanks.

"This is she." My head turns sharply to Madame Giry who has walked up beside me with the managers and Vicount in tow. Belle slips away, though I wish she had not. I curtsy and dip my head.

"Tess Dubois is our finest seamstress," Madame continues. Andre smiles at me and looks me over. Richard scoffs.

"This child?" he asks, astonished. Madame Giry frowns slightly.

"Every ballet girl is wearing her work, as am I," she announces with a hint of pride that makes me stand a little taller. Richard sniffs.

"Look at her. She is too thin. She's short and her eyes don't even match." Andre pinches Richard roughly.

"I like her eyes. They're mysterious. Now then, child, how old are you?" Madame Giry smiles apologetically to me.

"I am sorry Monsieur. I forgot to mention before, our Tess does not speak. I have known her for nine years and she has never made a sound. She is sixteen." Richard sniffs again.

"Come, Vicount. There are other more important people to meet." He drags the poor man off. Andre lingers a moment. He takes my hand and pats it kindly.

"Never you mind Richard, my dear. We shall be friends." He winks at me comically and walks away. Madame takes only a moment to touch her fingers to her forehead before following them.

The gala is loud and crowded. I hate every moment of it. I try to stay near the pastry table. I slip a second cream-filled pastry before they disappear entirely. For the most part I simply watch the people around me. Gavroche finds me once and talks to me for a while before the other stage hands pull him away for their own private party.

I find a spot near a vase of flowers to eat my sweet and watch the crowd. No one really catches my interest until I see Christine slip off with the Vicount. I begin to wonder if when she disappears, she goes to him. I frown. Maybe she'll choke on her tongue and miss tomorrow's performance.

Suddenly I realize I am not the only one who notices their departure. A shadow seems to materialize in the corner of the room. Dressed all in black and standing very still, the Phantom watches Christine. His yellow eyes glow in the darkness. I move slowly toward his shape. He does not seem to see me.

When I am close enough to touch him I stop. He notices me suddenly and tries to back up only to hit the wall. I curtsy, but never take my eyes off of him. He bows ever so slightly while his fingers fumble behind him. When I say nothing at all he stops, a confused look on the half of his face I can see. I want so badly to ask why he risked coming here, but I have no paper and no pen. After less than a minute he tips his head again to me and slides along the wall. A few feet away behind an indoor tree he hits a secret button and a door swings open. He slips through it and closes it quietly behind him. No one else in the room sees him leave.

I slip away almost as quietly. Only Madame Giry notices my departure. I smile at her before slipping down the deserted hall to my room. I close my door behind me and lean on it for a moment, closing my eyes. The sound of the party drifts to my ears quietly. I sigh silently and push myself to my feet. I shrug out of the pretty party dress and place it carefully back in my closet before slipping into my nightgown. I am too tired to work on anything more tonight. I go to my bed and slip under the covers which are in turn buried in patterns.

I have a strange feeling someone is watching me though I could not say who. I close my eyes and feel my skin prickle until the moment I fall asleep.


	4. Chapter 4-Dreams and Gowns

I sleep fitfully. My dreams are not happy ones.

I am hiding someplace warm and dark. Only a crack of daylight is visable. I see a pretty woman standing through it. She is terrified. She is dressed in finery. A tall man wraps her in his arms and holds her.

I hear the door bang open even in the dream. The beautiful lady screams in terror while the man tries to shield her with his body. The bang of a gun is sickening. It fires twice. I know the stranger's face. I know I've seen that face before. He leaves, never knowing I saw him. Through the slit of light I see blood pooling on the floor. The lovers hold each other in a final embrace, their dead fingers clinging to each other.

I wake up with a silent scream trapped in my throat. Patterns and fabric go flying. I am shaking too violently to try standing. Sweat sticks my hair to my neck and my thin nightgown to my body. It all seemed so real a moment ago. I reach up to my face with my hands. I am crying. Why am I crying? Who was that mine. I know I've seen him before.

I force myself to lay down. Even though I do not want to, I fall asleep again.

The phantom and I have met before.

Gavroche and I grew up playing on the rafters, chasing each other along the platforms far above the stage. I had created a special pair of pants for myself. When I walked they were full enough to look like a skirt, but they gave me the freedom to jump and climb as easily as Gav in our shadowy, airy world.

The first time Gav and I saw the Phantom we had stolen pastries from the kitchen. We were sitting on a swinging platform filling our mouths with the sweets as Gav told stories of ghosts and vampyres. It was as he spoke of a woman in white who lived in Buckingham Palace that I saw him. He was dressed in black from head to toe and was watching us curiously. His makes seemed to glow in the darkness as did his eyes.

Gav noticed the shift in my attention and followed my gaze. He tipped his hat to the phantom who only blinked at us before disappearing into the shadows. To this day the phantom and Gav have a strange sort of agreement. Ga doesn't acknowlege the Phantom and OG doesn't kill Gav.

I wake to the first signs of morning creeping through my tiny window. My throat is dry and I have the strangest feeling, like I'm being observed. I leave my bed quickly and dress for the day. I do my best to busy myself. My thoughts wander. I wonder what Monsieur Lafevre is doing today.

There is a tap on my door. Christine does not wait to open it. I stand still, watching her. Meg is at her heals. Christine is three years my elder and Meg is a year younger than her. Where Meg is timid and tends to fade into the background, Christine seems to demand attention. I really am not in the mood to be teased. To my surprise, Christine is actually polite to me. Maybe this is her way of seeing if I'm alright since Monsieur left me.

Christine immediately jumps into business mode. I don't think she knows how to be sympathetic.

"Madame sent me for a new dress," Christine says crisply. Meg looks around my room hoping to find a place to sit down. I move toward my shelves lined with sewing tools and find a measuring tape.

It does not take long to measure Christine. She is taller than me, bustier than me and a little bit heavier. She stands quietly while I measure her. I think she might have grown since last I sewed a dress for her. As if hearing my thought she adds, "The dress last night was a little tight." I smile behind her back. She would never have left without making at least one comment.

I pull out paper and we reach the more fun part of the process. Christine begins detailing the dress as she imagines it and I draw it. As she speaks I tweak the drawing until even she has to admit that it's perfect.

As Meg and Christine leave, Christine puts her nose in the air and returns to her usual self. "I need it in three days. You had better not mess up, Mute." I sigh silently and begin pulling fabrics. We have spent the whole morning and most of the afternoon in the planning. I decide to pin down the pattern before putting away the project for the night. Not for the first time I wonder why Christine needs such an elaborate dress and why Madame would have sent her to me.

Once the pattern is pinned I fold it neatly and put it on a shelf for the night. I head for the kitchens realizing I have not eaten all day. My stomach is not happy with me. Perhaps Marta will have something for me.


	5. Chapter 5: De Chagnys

I discover why Christine needed such a formal dress three days later, a crisp, Tuesday morning. I had finished the gown the night before, but have chosen to wait until the morning to deliver it.

It is cold in my room when I slip from under the covers. I dress warmly and start my fire. After that I take my time going over every last detail of Christine's dress. Even if Christine and I are not friends, I do my best on all my work.

The dress is a deep forest green. Mint green vines highlight the fabric. The lace sleeves are delicate and beautiful. Silver buttons run up the back, each perfectly spaced. The skirt is full. The neckline demands attention, but is not immodest. Silver bead-work lines the cuffs and neckline. I used a piece of deep green ribbon as a necklace on the mannequin. Every inch of the dress is perfect.

A light knock calls me away from my work. Madame Giry is standing outside my door when I open it. She looks around my room, frowning slightly. Madame is very orderly. No doubt she is screaming in her head that I should not leave my room until it is clean. If she is thinking such a thought she keeps it to herself.

Before Madame can enter my room, Christine sweeps up the hall and through my door.

"I trust you finished," she says without stopping to notice Madame Giry standing in the doorway. I nod and point at the dress. Christine looks at it and frowns. "It looks big." I sigh silently and pull it from the mannequin.

Madame Giry and I spend the next half an hour removing Christine's complicated dress and positioning her in the new one. Once we have her in it she smiles. The dress is a perfect fit. Of course it looked big on my slender mannequin. I keep that thought to myself and work diligently at the buttons on the back of the gown.

When I finish I take Christine to a small vanity I have in the corner of my room. She sits and I begin to brush her hair. Madame Giry watches us both. Silently, Christine watches me too.

As they stare, I work. Christine's long brown curls are thick and beautiful. I pin them in intricate patterns on her head. Some curls tumble down her back neatly while others look like little rosettes on her head. The jeweled pins have been dyed green to match the dress. I had asked Gav to take it to the costumer who in turn fixed the pins for me.

With the task complete, I stand back and admire my work. Christine shines. Even she seems genuinely happy. She smiles once at Madame before leaving my room.

Only after Christine has left does Madame speak to me.

"You had best dress nicely yourself my dear. I am to escort you and Monsieur Gavroche to tea with the managers and our patrons."

I shiver at the idea, but utter not a single sound. Instead I pull out a pleasant violet dress and slip it over my head after disguarding my warmer clothing. I pin my black hair to my head in a loose bun. I decide to wear my one piece of jewelry. It is a necklace, a small black pearl hanging from a silvery chain. I do not remember where I got the pearl. I think I have always had it. It does not matter. I fasten the chain around my neck, look at myself one last time and join Madame in the hall.

Madame Giry escorts me down halls I know very well. We are going to Monsieur Lefevre's office; though I expect I should now refer to it as Andre and Richard's office. The thought saddens me.

Right outside the office we are greeted by Gavroche who informs us that the other guests are already present. He takes my hand in his as we enter.

The office looks nothing like what I remember. It was always a large room, but where it was once filled with books, desks and planners the space is now mostly empty. Two desks sit facing each other at the far end of the office. A bookshelf stands beside each desk. The desks are kept in perfect order. Not so much as an inkwell is out of place. Plush business chairs sit a short way off from the desks. One of the managers and a customer could easily sit there and talk. Or if the manager were to interview a new member of the opera company he could sit at his desk while talking to the other person with ease.

The rest of the office is empty save for a long dining table lined with formal, high-back chairs. In these chairs sit five people already. I recognize Christine immediately. She sits between Monsieur Richard and the Vicount De Changy that I met briefly the night of the gala. On the Vicount's other side is a man very similar in appearance, though quite obviously several years older. It can only be the Count de Changy, the Vicount's older brother and lord of the Changy lands and money. Beside the Count is a single empty seat which Madame Giry moves to occupy.

This leaves two seats next to Monsieur Andre, who is seated beside Monsieur Richard, for Gavroche and myself. I find myself seated between Gav and the friendlier of the managers. Andre smiles kindly at me as I take my seat.

Though Madame Giry has told me we are here to have tea, it looks to me as though this is more of a complete meal. We are offered scones, rolls, pastries, fruits and cheeses along with our tea. Gavroche chooses to have coffee instead.

Everyone at the table is talking lightly when I realize I am being watched. The elder de Changy has not stopped watching me since I sat down across the table from him. His eyes hold vague interest and, to my surprise, a certain amount of loathing. I do my best to smile at him which only deepens his frown. Suddenly I realize that it was not the younger Changy I have been trying to place since the night of the gala. It is his older brother. While the Vicount has features that are familiar, I am certain that I know the Count's face. It angers me that I cannot put my finger on why.

It would appear that the Count knows me as well. Between his intense stare and harsh words when he does decide to comment on a particular conversation, I decide immediately that I dislike the man.

As the meal progresses the talk turns more toward business than friendly gossip. It becomes apparent that our Opera Ghost has continued sending letters to the managers. He is no doubt unhappy that they continue to rent his box to the de Changys. The Count scoffs at the letters placed on the table. "A foolish stage hand's prank," he says mockingly.

The discussion quickly becomes heated and I am not sure if it will remain polite or become an argument. I find myself scooting closer to Gavroche. I detest being around angered people. Gav puts his hand over mine comfortingly and I give him an uneasy smile.

At length it is decided that the letters are not to be obeyed. The Changys will continue to use the box they have chosen. The Count refuses to hear anymore talk on the subject and the managers relent.

The next order of business, to my dismay is us. More precisely, they are going to decide what is to be done with Gavroche and me. Up until this time we have been kept on without charge. They seem to forget that we are not paid either. Gavroche keeps quiet, sitting still as stone beside me. My own eyes are wide with fear.

Madame Giry is quick to speak for both of us; God bless her. Andre also chips in that I am the best seamstress we have and that only Gavroche seems to get the scene changes right. Both Changys frown.

I know I must look surprised when Christine speaks on my behalf. She compliments my work, or as close as she comes, claiming that my gowns are at least passable where the others could never be worn in public. She also praises Gavroche's work in the rafters.

After what seems like hours, both Changys relent to our staying.

With the unpleasant meal over, I rush for the door. Christine and Raoul are the first to leave and the Count is not far behind them. I am the next out the door. I do not make it far before powerful hands shove me against the wall. I gasp for air, struggling to breath.

With horror in my heart and terror in my eyes I realize that this feels very familiar. A faint glimmer of memory touches my mind; something trying to come to light after years of being forgotten. The Count's face is close to mine.

"What game are you playing at?" His voice is harsh and cold. I shake my head and struggle in his grasp, but he is too strong for me. I can feel his hand crushing my windpipe.

"Monsieur Philleppe?" a voice calls. The pressure on my neck eases immediately as the Count lets go of me. I crumple to the floor coughing. Andre and Gavroche stand in the doorway. Madame Giry is slightly in front of them. Her eyes are critical as she takes in the pair of us. I can feel the bruise beginning to surface on my neck. The Count looks down at me and I shrink away in terror. Gav moves as if to attack the Count, but Andre stops him forcefully. Count Philleppe de Changy does not bother to answer Madame Giry. Instead he stalks away.

Once the Count is out of sight, Andre lets Gavroche come to my side. I try desperately to hold back the flood of tears that sting the back of my eyes unbidden. Andre comes forward too, and pats my back comfortingly.

"There there now. I'm sorry, sweet. The Count has a terrible temper." Gavroche scoffs aloud.

"He nearly killed her," he says in a low, angry voice. I look at Andre who seems just as afraid as I am when I catch his eye.

"Take her back to her room, Gavroche," Madame orders. Gavroche obeys, picking up my small body and carrying me down the hall.

It takes hours for Gavroche to tuck me into my bed and get me to finally begin to relax. He tells me stories and hums simply melodies. He picks up some of my patterns, stacking them neatly. The bed is cleared as well as one of the armchairs so he can sit beside me without fear of being stuck by a pin. He falls asleep with his chin on his fist long before I begin to doze off.

When I do sleep I wish I had stayed awake. In my dreams there is blood on my hands and my dress. I am smaller than I am now as I run through a huge house searching for something; a door I think. Powerful hands grab me, closing around my throat, squeezing the air from my lungs. Just before I black out a door bangs open and the hands release me and I see the face; Count Philleppe de Changy's face. He disappears before anyone else can reach me, before the strong arms pull me up in an embrace and someone starts screaming my name.

Reality and dream blur together as I wake up shaking, or maybe it is Gavroche shaking me as he calls me. I open my eyes and look at him. Only then do I realize I have cut open my palm on a piece of glass. I have no idea how it got here until I see the rest of the glass shattered on the bed.

"You broke a tumbler glass when you were struggling. Your hand reached out and knocked it from the table." He indicates a matching cup, still in one piece on the table beside my bed. "Stay there," he orders and goes to fetch bandages for my cut hand.


	6. Chapter 6- Rayn Falls

The rest of that night is fitful. My hand throbs mercilessly. Gavroche left after cleaning up the glass.

I finally sleep again in the small hours of the morning. By the time I wake up again the day is well under way.

I take my time getting ready for the day. There are no projects for me to work on. Rehearsals have just started for Faust. It is my favorite opera. I have already finished several costumes for the dancers. The rest of the costume plans have not been detailed yet, so I cannot start to pin them down.

Instead I have the entire day to myself. I chose to wear a pretty white blouse and a brown skirt. It is plain, but suits me well. Then I decide to make my way to the kitchen for breakfast.

The Opera's kitchen is enormous. A dozen cooks work through the day to feed the company. Extra cooks are hired when there is a gala and guests must be fed as well.

Marta greets me warmly. She brings me over to her corner of the kitchen and hands me a roll fresh out of the oven before pointing me toward the honey jar. I give her a quick hug as a thank you before spreading the sweet messy honey across my roll and biting it. The texture is perfect.

After I finish my meal I decide to see how the first rehearsals for Faust are going. The wings are usually quite empty at this point.

Piangi and Christine are working on the lead roles of Margarita and Faust. Mephistopheles is being performed by Herr Gustav Schmitt, a German actor who has recently joined our company. He is quite talented and treats me kindly. None of them are yet in costume. They are working on the scene where Mephistopheles shows Faust a vision of Margarita at her spinning wheel.

After several times going over the same line Monsieur Reyer dismisses Christine and decides to work just with Piangi and Herr Gustav on the opening scene.

I stay by the side of the stage listening to the pair work through the music. Herr Gustav has a beautiful bass voice with a soaring, thundering baritone range as well. Piangi's voice sounds weak by comparison. Monsieur Reyer notices and begins to correct Piangi again. I smile slightly. Sometimes I feel sad for the funny man. Piangi is not cruel. Sometimes he seems down-right depressed.

Eventually I leave the stage and decide to take a look at some of the existing costumes in the first basement.

As I descend the stairs laughter catches my attention. I move toward the sound.

Directly in front of me are four ballet girls. I recognize Christine and Florence immediately. Once Odette turns around I recognize her too. It is the forth girl that I am having trouble placing. Florence is the one laughing. The forth girl seems frightened. They are all out of breath.

"...it would be fine," Christine is saying. Odette nods and slumps against the wall.

"You sure did."

"Did you see the shock on his face?" Christine asks. Odette and Florence desolve into giggles.

"I think he would have looked less shocked if you had stabbed him, Christine," Florence says. The forth girl has kept quiet so far, but finally speaks.

"Don't you think that was a little mean?" The other three girls stop immediately and stare at her.

"I thought you wanted to be with us, Rayn. Well you are going to have to keep your mouth shut if you want to stay," Christine barks. Rayn cringes.

"But won't he come after us?" she asks pathetically. Christine scoffs.

"She's scared," Odette mocks.

I recognize the forth girl now. Rayn is a girl from England who came to our theater a few months ago. She is a timid little thing; a dancer in the ballet. She has always been sweet. I can't think what would make her want to be with these girls. I don't worry about it much longer. Something Christine holds up catches my attention.

Christine raises her hand in front of Rayn's face.

"He won't be going anywhere without this," she says. Then I know what the object is. It is a mask, a half mask to be exact; pure white and smooth. There is only one person in the theater who that could belong to. These girls just stole the Phantom's mask.

I stand frozen for several seconds before ever so slowly looking up. The first basement has beams that run along the roof and below it. They are an excellent crawl space. My eyes search the darkness above for only a moment before I spot him. The black cape hangs like the wings of death, falling from the beam around him. The hood of the cape is pulled up over his head, hiding his face from view. I do not know if he is watching the girls or me. I hope he is watching them.

Before I can properly think what I am doing I dart from my shadows toward the girl and reach at Christine's outstretched hand. My fingers close around the mask pulling it skillfully from her hand. She screams in terror and backs away. Before any of them have time to recognize me I disappear again, hiding behind a large stack of discarded mattresses and bird cages. The girls do not wait long enough to discover me. Instead they run for the stairs.

A few seconds later I move from my spot and approach the beam. The Phantom is no longer there. I tuck the mask safely into my waist band before returning to the first floor. I do not want to be in any of the basements if the Phantom is angry.

After wandering for a time I find myself back in the wings of the stage. Madame Giry is rehearsing with the ballet girls. I stand watching them. The dance is still very rough around the edges and the girls are beginning to annoy Madame. She keeps correcting them harshly. This dance is difficult because several of the girls are being held in the air by wires to signify the angels Margarita sees near the end of Faust. Delicate little Rayn is one of those girls. Odette is another. Christine and Florence are both floor dancers for this performance. Christine is not the center of the dance troupe since it is likely that she will replace Carlotta for at least one performance.

Madame halts the dance again to correct a few of the dancers in the air. As they start again something goes terribly wrong. Rayn screams as she suddenly falls seven feet toward the stage floor. She lands with a sickening thud and a crack. The poor girl whimpers in pain as Madame approaches her. Gavroche comes running from one of the side wings. Gently he lifts Rayn off the floor and carries her to a sofa off stage where Madame can examine her leg. Gavroche scales a set to reach the rafters above.

Madame returns to the stage a few minutes later as Gavroche is descending. He does not stop to talk to Madame Giry. Instead he looks at the wire now on the ground.

"What happened up there?" Madame demands. Gavroche frowns and holds up the wire.

"Someone cut her down," he says.


	7. Chapter 7: Faust and Phantoms

Months pass before I see any sign of the Phantom again. I keep his mask with me, always. Rehearsals for Faust continue. I receive the costume order and begin work. Sets are built and others are altered. Makeup is perfected so that each performer shines. The ballet is flawless. Rayn has been removed from the opera due to a broken leg. She no longer stays in the company of Christine and her friends. Sometimes I bring her books in her room.

The opening night of Faust arrives amidst a bustle of excitement. Philleppe and Raoul de Changy will both be attending tonight's performance and the following gala. Raoul is kind enough, but Philleppe frightens me.

Gavroche has been busy. There is talk of making him the chief stage hand. Buquet does not like such talk seeing as he is the senior member of the crew.

Piangi finally begins to grasp the lines of Faust. He sounds more and more like a performer and less like a mewing cat. Carlotta has no such improvement. Herr Gustav is quickly becoming a rising star in our opera house. He is a middle aged man, though he wears it well. Unlike many of our more successful actors, Gustav is fit, his body thin and his hair thick and dark. His words are gentle and his movements fluid. Many think him the perfect bachelor. I cannot complain. He pays me compliments and kindnesses that few others in the company would ever think of. He never complains about his costumes.

As the time for the opening performance draws closer, Madame Giry busies herself making last minute adjustments to the dancing. Christine is warming up in her dressing room. Carlotta is no where to be found. As with all our opening nights, Monsieurs Richard and Andre are nervous wrecks. Andre mops his face with a kercheif while Richard mutters curses.

The Vicount arrives early and immediately heads toward our rising star's dressing room. Christine admits him and closes the door behind him.

Count Philleppe de Changy is less punctual and arrives only a few minutes before the performance starts.

The house is full tonight. Not a seat is left. That does some good at calming our managers' nerves. Philleppe and Raoul sit in box 5, the best box in the house; the Phantom's box. Andre and Richard are not quite so brave. They sit in box 2 on the other side of the theater.

I stand in the wings as the stage is readied and the orchestra begins the opening score. Christine walks toward the stage and then pauses seeing me. She moves toward me. There is no place for me to run, so I stand and face her.

"I know you took it," she says in a threatening voice. We both know she means the mask. I only blink at her. "Don't think I won't get back at you for that, mute," she says before moving toward the other side of the wings. She takes her place as the first act begins.

I am no longer interested in being in the wings. Instead I move toward the rafters. I know which sets Gavroche is working tonight and intend to watch the show from there. I never make it.

As I reach the first ladder a shadow catches my attention. The phantom is lurking near me. I turn and look at him. He is tall and shrouded in shadow. I cannot make out any of his features accept for those glowing amber-yellow eyes. He stares at me, not even blinking.

Slowly, as not to frighten him or anger him, I reach down my dress to a large pocket hidden in the folds of the fabric. I remove two objects from the pocket. The first is his mask. The second is a small note. I reach out my hand, offering him both.

At first he does not move. Then ever so slowly he stretches out a single arm. His long fingers close around the mask and note and I let go. He snatches his arm back. He makes no move to replace the mask on his face and I wonder if perhaps he is wearing another.

"Who are you?" I make no answer. "Why are you here?" Again I am silent. "Do you think I will not kill you?" I bite my lip and point at the mask and note in his hand. He gives an annoyed sigh. "This means nothing to me," he says indicating the mask. This time however, he holds the note up to a small bit of light nearby and reads my carefully printed words. _I believe this belongs to you and I only wish to return it._ When he finishes reading I have moved from my spot and hide in the dark shadows behind an unused stage curtain. He makes no attempt to find me and instead vanishes into the darkness.

The whole month of performances are nearly flawless. Some nights Carlotta sings. Other nights Christine is our starring lady. Piangi and Herr Gustav out-preform themselves every night. The managers rave about what a success this opera has been. I find myself missing Monsieur Lefevre. He would have loved to be here for this opera.

Every night I climb to the rafters and sit beside Gavroche as he changes the scenes. We laugh silently when a dancer stumbles or Carlotta forgets a line and makes one up as she goes along.

Tonight is closing night. There is a gala after the performance that I do not have any intention of attending. I climb to my usual spot in the rafters. As I reach it I sit down without looking at the man beside me. It is not until the think, meaty hand of Buquet descends on my shoulder that I freeze in terror. I slowly turn, looking up at him. He smiles a terrible smile at me and hauls me to my feet. Just then a booming, seductive, dangerous voice rings clear across the theater.

"Did I not instruct, that box five be kept empty." Many people look about for the owner of the voice. The performance stops for a moment. Buquet keeps a firm hand on my shoulder but keeps his eyes turned toward the rafters above looking for a sign of the Phantom. When he sees none and the show continues he again turns to me.

"What is a pretty like you doing up here?" he asks me knowing full well I will not answer him. My face drains of all color and I try to pull away. He digs his fingers into my shoulder and I wince in pain. He leans close to me. "You're friend is trying to take my job did you know? The brat you call a brother. Well, why don't we send him a little message. I promise you'll like it." I know that I won't.

Buquet's lips crash onto mine. He tastes of brandy and smoke and dirt. He is rough and cruel as he pulls my body against him. I struggle in vain against his grip. My feet slip on the floor of the platform. With one movement Buquet forces me down on my back. I feel the tears stinging my eyes as I continue to struggle, praying this won't happen. Hoping Gavroche will find me. I reach out my hands for anything that I can hit him with. His hands find the laces of my dress while he sits across my legs rendering them useless. I pray to heaven for someone to rescue me.

Just as I give up hope and lie still a shadow falls across us. Buquet notices the figure a moment after I do. The Phantom looms above us in the shadows. Buquet pails, his hands cease to pull at the laces of my dress. He moves slowly at first, away from me, but then in a violent tug, he pulls me to my feet and against his body, a blade pressed to my neck. I gasp silently and keep as still as a statue.

The Phantom simply watches us with that intense, unblinking gaze. Below us Carlotta seems to have lost her voice. The managers are screaming at Monsieur Reyer to start the ballet from another act. Buquet looks down at the commotion. That is his first mistake. The Phantom lunges forward sending the blade flying from Buquet's grasp. In a second cat-like motion he pulls me away from the frightening stage hand. I crash against the wall of the theater roof. Neither man pays me any notice as I begin to pass out. The last thing I see is a rope being thrown from the phantom's hand. He still holds the other end of it. I realize even with my mind becoming foggy that the phantom is strangling Buquet with a noose as Buquet struggles feebly.

"Powerless. Do you like being the victim?" the Phantom murmurs in a low deadly voice. He kicks Buquet's body. He falls through the air and is jerked to a deadly halt when he reaches the limit of the rope. The Phantom hold the other end in a tight grip until Buquet's body stops twitching. Ballet girls are screaming. The Phantom drops the rope. He turns without another glance and moves toward me. I try to move but cannot make my limbs obey my will. Strong arms pull me up and drape me over a shoulder; the Phantom's shoulder. We are climbing higher, disappearing into the shadows as the blackness finally ceases my mind and pulls me down into the abyss of thoughtless, dreamless sleep.


	8. Chapter 8- Beneath the Opera House

**Hi guys. So sorry this has taken so long. Between being preoccupied and being terrified of writing this chapter I haven't been updating. So please let me know what you think. I'll try to be better about updating.**

Everything seems dark and cold and hard for the longest time. I don't know how long it actually is before reality slowly starts to seep back into my head. At first I am only aware of being warm and a strange distant music I can't quite hear.

The next time reality begins to surface the music is clearer and I am aware of something soft that is wrapped around my body. I don't feel frozen anymore.

The third time reality strikes I remember everything. I remember looking for Gavroche above the stage. I remember Buquet grabbing me; the way his hands smelled and the way he touched me. I remember _him_. He rescued me. He killed Buquet. He kidnapped me.

Finally I wake up; truly wake up. I grip the blanket around my body, for that is the warm soft object I have been aware of vaguely. The ringing in my head ceases slowly and my vision becomes clear. A few candles burn in sconces spread around the room.

It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the light in the room after being asleep for so long.

The first thing I notice is a door, though I am not sure that is the correct word for it. It seems as if someone cut a piece of the wall away and hung it on hinges from the outside creating a secret hidden door into the room where I now lay.

The second thing I notice is that I am not wearing my clothing. I shiver suddenly and curl up tight. That means he must have undressed me.

To stop the panic rising in my throat I examine my surroundings. A mahogany bedside table rests beside me. The bed has curtains hanging from the posts but they are pulled back. The carpet seems very thick. A second ordinary door leads to a small bathroom. There is a huge wardrobe standing opposite the bed.

I sit up to get a better look at my surroundings. Only then do I realize there is still a distant music playing. It is soft and sweet, like a lullaby. I cannot tell where it is coming from so I sit and listen to the music. When it finally stops I feel almost sad.

That is when I hear footsteps. A moment later he appears in the doorway. He looked in at a glance and then stopped. "You're awake," he said as if it were a simple fact. I nod slightly. I don't realize until he looks down that I am clutching the blankets to my body.

"I took the liberty of changing you out of those bizarre clothes. They were too dirty to be comfortable. I'm sorry that is too big for you. It was made for someone else." He speaks as if it were perfectly normal to have a strange girl in a bedroom in your house below the opera. I merely blink at him.

After a moment the man steps inside my room. When I do not move he strides toward the plush sofa beside my bed and takes a seat, watching me the whole time. I stare right back at him.

For the first time I am seeing the phantom of the opera in light without the shadows to hide him and without his cape billowing around him. He is every bit as tall as the stories say; well over six feet. He is surprisingly thin, like someone who has been starved within an inch of their life. His fingers, which grip his bony knees, are long and slender. His legs are long too. He crosses one ankle over his other knee and leans back completely at ease with his surroundings. His shoes were silent as he crossed the room. I am not sure if that is a skill he learned or just the fact that he is wearing good shoes. His dress coat is coal-black and matches his pants and vest perfectly. His white shirt peaks out from his vest. His neck is long. His head is held high. His hair is dark, almost black and cut neatly.

I can only see half his face. The right side is hidden beneath a white porcelain mask.

What captures me the most are his amber eyes that seem to glow even in the light as he blinks at me. His voice is soft and mysterious; seductive.

"Have you nothing to say?" he asks me with just a hint of curiosity in his tone. "Will you not beg for your life and your freedom?" I shake my head and he frowns. I am angering him. "Well?" he asks again. I bite my lip searching frantically for my clothes.

At last I spot them discarded in a corner. Without hesitation I move toward them. He watches me intently but makes no movements at all.

I pull a note from the pocket of my strange garments that I had intended to leave for him. He raises an eyebrow as I approach him warily. As I hold out the notehis eyes narrow. What game is it you are playing little rat?" he asks with a growl in his voice. I simply continue to offer him the letter.

At last he takes it. I move back several paces before he looks at my careful lettering.

_Monsieur,_

_We have met before briefly, several months before. I returned a belonging to you. My name is Tess DeBois. I do not speak. I wish you no harm here and can only ask that you return the favor. If you do indeed find this I hope you will consider me an ally if not a friend.  
TD_

He finishes reading and looks at me. "So what am I to do with you, Tess?" he asks me. I blink at him and sit down on the edge of the bed.

After several moments he sighs. "Well I shall not starve you. Wait here and I will bring you breakfast."

He rises to leave. Just as he passes the doorway he turn to me. "You may know me as Erik if you wish."


End file.
